


Sand

by Maiden_of_Asgard



Category: Loki - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Day At The Beach, F/M, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Frostbite AU, In-Unga - Freeform, Jotunn | Frost Giant, Jötnar | Jotuns | Frost Giants (Norse Religion & Lore), King Loki (Marvel), Miðgarðr | Midgard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 03:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17953028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_Asgard/pseuds/Maiden_of_Asgard
Summary: If you’d told Gjálp Geirröðardóttir only a few years ago that she’d someday be sitting on a Midgardian beach, enjoying something called a ‘vacation’ with the King of Jotunheim and his mortal queen, she might’ve said that you had lost your mind.*A Frostbite Series AU*





	Sand

**Author's Note:**

> I’m aliiiiiive!! I’ve been very absent for a long, long time, but rest assured that Frostbite is always on my mind! This little one-shot came to me on the train, and I couldn’t resist - consider it a ‘maybe possible future’ sort of slice-of-life, in the same vein as Paper Planes. I figured some cuteness was a good way to jump back into writing! ❄️ 💙
> 
> (s/o to the anon who said they shipped Gjálp and Prince B - this one’s for you)!

She twirled in front of the mirror, delighted to find that the Midgardian clothing that had been ordered for them actually _fit._ In-Unga had done an excellent job, Gjálp decided; this thing the mortals called a ‘bikini’ seemed very flattering to her form, and it was certainly more bearable in this dreadful heat than the clothing they had worn during the trip.

A long towel slung over her shoulder, she skipped happily out of the pretty little cabin by the seaside, giggling as her toes sunk into the sand. The sand here was _strange_ \- it was so fine, it almost reminded her of snow. She was already sweating, but she was far too excited to really care, and she squinted across the beach, marvelling at the waves and the clear, bright sky.

“Gjálp,” the king called out from under a large, open tent that had been erected near to the water, “have you put on your sunscreen?”

_Oh._ She hurried over to the tent, ducking into an embarrassed little half-bow. “No, sire, I’d forgotten.”

He sighed and sank back down onto his chair, his hands behind his head. “You’d best do it, then, before the queen comes along and chastises you.”

“Of course, sire,” Gjálp replied, and Loki Laufeyson waved her away, closing his eyes.

He was a very _strange_ king.

Her sister Greip was sitting with Prince Býleistr and Hrossþjófr in the shade of a few trees, a large, floppy hat on her head, a thin robe covering her own Midgardian swimming-clothes. “Do you have the sun-lotion that In-Unga gave us?” she asked.

“I do,” Greip said, pulling a large bottle out of her bag, “but it smells _most_ unpleasant.”

Gjálp opened the bottle, taking a large whiff of its contents and immediately regretting it. _“Norns,”_ she said, “that is very potent.”

Hrossþjófr took a large swig from the pitcher of ice-water in his hand, then shrugged. “According to that mortal friend of the king’s, this Midgardian sun is more likely to damage us, given the difference in climate. The smell becomes less bothersome after a moment or two… though the sand _does_ stick to it.”

“Oh.” Frowning, she stuck her finger tip into the bottle, then dabbed some of the mixture onto her nose, flushing slightly when Prince Býleistr laughed.

“Come here,” he said, pushing the dark sun-glasses the queen had gifted him up onto his head. “I will assist you.”

She still hadn’t grown used to the prince being so… _free_ with her - or with anyone, for that matter. He seemed much more light-hearted than he’d ever been in the court, despite the sweltering heat of the Midgardian sun. Tense and a bit anxious, she sat herself down cross-legged on the blanket beside him.

“You have to spread it evenly,” he told her, plucking the bottle from her fingers, “or your skin will begin to burn and crack, as my brother has already discovered.”

_Ah._ That explained why he seemed so vastly entertained, then; Prince Býleistr always _did_ seem to enjoy the king’s discomfort. “That sounds dreadful.”

He grinned. “It is. But, In-Unga did warn him, so he has only his own arrogance to blame. Without that glamour, he is currently exceptionally _grey.”_

“Where is In-Unga—” Gjálp began, but her voice faltered as soon as the prince began rubbing the sun-lotion onto her forehead. He had a very gentle touch, and she averted her eyes, wondering how much of the heat was due to the sun, and how much of it was due to her embarrassment.

“She is cooking in their cabin,” Hrossþjófr said. “Some Midgardian meal, I suppose.”

“Alone?”

“No, the Stark man is with her, I believe.”

_Ah._

Gjálp wasn’t entirely certain how to approach ‘the Stark man’; her king seemed perpetually irritated by the mortal, but In-Unga appeared awestruck when they first met, and so Gjálp could only assume that he was some sort of lord or prince in his own right. He certainly must be _wealthy,_ if nothing else, as he’d apparently purchased the entire island for their visit.

_“I just figured the Na’vi would draw too much attention in Miami,”_ he’d said.

She still was unsure as to what he’d meant by that.

“Turn around,” Prince Býleistr ordered, “so that I can reach your back.”

“Of course, sire,” she said, slightly flustered, and she complied at once, sitting up perfectly straight - posture that not even her mother could’ve criticized.

He swept her long hair aside, and then his hands rested on her shoulders as he leaned close to her ear. “There is no need to call me that here, Gjálp,” he said, his voice light. “Lady Skaði is not here to scold you for your impudence.”

“But—”

“Consider it an order, if you must.” He sounded flippant, _disinterested,_ but her heart raced.

“Yes, Býleistr.”

“You’ve never objected to calling me by my name, or _worse,”_ Hrossþjófr interjected, “and you know that I am a lord in my tribe.”

Greip elbowed him. “You are a rogue,” she said, “and I’ve never _once_ seen you behave with the decorum of a lord. Leave my sister be.”

“You _wound_ me, darling lady.”

“Shall we go into the water?” Gjálp asked, in no small part to distract herself from the feel of the prince’s hands smoothing down her back. “The mortals said that it should be safe.”

“If you’d like,” Býleistr replied, “though perhaps we should send the king out first, just in case there is something lurking below the waves.” He laughed when she made a tiny hum of disapproval. “Have I offended you, O Noble Bodyguard?”

“Yes.”

“I apologize. I should not truly wish any harm upon my brother, for you’d certainly rush in after him, and it would be a terrible shame if you were to be eaten by one of these shark-creatures.” His hands left her skin. “There; you are done.”

“In-Unga says that the sharks do not attack the mortals often,” Greip said, ever-eager to join any discussion involving interesting new animals. “She said that the ancestors of these creatures were enormous - that they would even seem fearsome on Jotunheim!”

“Megalodon,” Hrossþjófr supplied, smiling slightly at her enthusiasm. “It was called Megalodon.”

“She said that there is a… what was it, dear one?”

“A ‘movie,’ she called it.”

“Yes! There is a _movie_ that we will view this evening that shows the creatures.”

“The shark,” Býleistr asked, “or the Megalodon?”

Greip scrunched up her face. “I do not recall,” she replied, “but I am very excited for it.”

Gjálp fanned her face with her hands, wondering how Midgard managed to be so _sweltering._ “Do you suppose that the water will help us to cool, at least?”

“If we are lucky,” her sister said, standing and dusting the sand from her legs. She couldn’t help but notice how Hrossþjófr watched every move that Greip made with such obvious _adoration_ \- would she ever experience such a thing, someday? A mate-bond that was forged on something as strange and unfamiliar as _love?_

“Wait a moment or two, Gjálp,” Býleistr said. “That concoction is supposed to dry.”

“Oh.” Her impatience was difficult to tame, and she drummed her fingers on her knee, eager to rush into the pretty blue waves. “I enjoyed our earlier visit to Midgard, but I do believe that this destination is far more _exciting.”_

“I preferred the snow,” her sister replied, “but it is very pretty, I will admit. Though, I cannot begin to imagine how there are mortals who endure this heat year-round.”

“Ah, but it is not so unbearable, Sister! I believe that I am growing used to it already.”

Greip smiled. “It is _entirely_ unbearable, but I am happy that you are enjoying it.”

Prince Býleistr slid the sun-glasses back down over his eyes and stretched as he stood, and Gjálp averted her eyes, a bit mortified to realize that _somehow_ \- after all the years she’d known him - she’d begun to allow herself to entertain _thoughts_ of him. “I will go into the water with you, Gjálp. I would not want for one of these Megalodons to eat you.”

“The Megalodon is _extinct—”_ Greip began.

“Or a shark, then.” He offered his hand, and Gjálp took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. “If you wait for these layabouts, you won’t have the opportunity to swim until the sun goes down.”

Hrossþjófr feigned injury, clasping his hand to his heart. “A _layabout?_ Do you hear this, my love, how our prince maligns me?”

“The prince is not _wrong,”_ Greip replied, reclining beside him and covering her face with her hat. “I desire nothing more than to lay about; it is too hot for anything else.”

Gjálp wasn’t entirely certain what she should make of the fact that the prince kept her hand in his, pulling her towards the water, but she decided that the best course of action was to ignore it entirely. She was certain that he was only being a bit odd because of the strangeness of the circumstances; he would _never_ behave this way on Jotunheim. _Would he?_

_Lady Skaði would have my head for this impropriety,_ she thought, _and as for Queen Fárbauti..._

But she stumbled, then, her feet sinking quickly into the wet sand, and if it hadn’t been for his hand, she might’ve landed face-first in the surf. Býleistr snickered. “Eager, aren’t you?”

“I did not realize that the surface of the ground would change so suddenly,” she mumbled. “The sand here is very fine.” Off in the distance, she saw a bright white flash as some sort of bird dove towards the waves, and she was momentarily distracted from her angst. “I would like to see _all_ of it,” she said.

“The island, you mean?”

“Midgard. Well, all of the Nine, truly, but it seems that there are so many things to see, even on _Midgard…”_

“I know,” Býleistr replied. “I would like to see all of it, too.”

The water was warm, but it was refreshing, and she’d soon waded out until she was chest-deep, the prince following close behind her, laughing when a wave caught her across the face and caused her to splutter and cough.

“Careful,” he said, “In-Unga says that the currents can be dangerous.”

“It is very sweet, the way she frets.”

“It is.” He paused for a moment, and Gjálp felt a tiny flicker of something similar to _envy,_ though she was quick to banish it - after all, there was no logical _reason_ for such a feeling. Býleistr ducked under the water while she stood there scolding herself, and the feeling was immediately replaced with worry, but when he popped up again, he was holding something in his palm.

“Oh,” she cried, delighted by the swirling, spiky sea-shell he offered her. “How did you find it?”

“I stepped on it,” he replied ruefully, adjusting his sun-glasses. “The spines are sharper than they might appear.”

She took the shell and examined it, then held it to her ear - as she’d seen In-Unga do once before - listening carefully for the howl of the ocean spirit.

“Would you ever consider leaving the king’s side, Gjálp?”

Lowering the shell, she bit her lip, dearly hoping that the prince wasn’t about to stir up some sort of trouble. “No, sire. I owe Loki Laufeyson a life-debt—”

“What if it was with his blessing?” he interrupted. “I had considered… well, there is nothing for me to _do_ in Utgard, you know, and Mother has been driving me absolutely mad. I do not believe that my brother questions my loyalty, but I find myself constantly fending off offers of ‘support,’ should I decide to claim the throne. The court tires me.”

“Oh.” What else could she say? Prince Býleistr had never been so _forthcoming,_ and she was entirely unprepared for it. “I am sorry, Býleistr.”

“Jotunheim needs an emissary on Midgard,” he continued. “The Stark man would see to the arrangements, and it is the perfect role for a prince with nothing better to do, wouldn’t you say?”

“I suppose,” she replied, though her heart fell slightly at the notion of him leaving the court. “And if it would make you happy, then I see no reason why you should not; I am certain that you would be splendid at it.”

He watched her silently, then pushed the sun-glasses back up onto his head, and Gjálp squirmed under his scrutiny. “I think that you would do well on Midgard, Gjálp.”

She cocked her head, puzzled.

“I would have you stay on Midgard with me. You and your sister, I trust - but she would never be happy away from Jotunheim and that _seiðberandi_ of hers, not for long. But you… you are just as fascinated by this realm as I am, and I truly believe that you would enjoy it.”

Gjálp gawped. “Sire, I—”

“Býleistr,” he corrected. “And you do not have to decide in this moment. Think on it. It would not be forever, in any case; we would be able to come and go with relative freedom, provided my brother does not do anything rash to lose us access to the Bifrost.”

They bobbed in the waves for some time, basking in the sun and the surf, leaving more serious matters for later discussion. Far away on the beach, the queen emerged from one of the cabins and stalked over to the king’s tent, her hands on her hips.

“Can you make out what they are saying?”

“Hmm. It sounds as if my brother is receiving a scolding. I cannot make out the cause - something about cream?”

“Ah, she must mean the iced-cream!” Gjálp beamed, proud that she knew something of Midgard that the prince did not. “In-Unga said that there is a delicacy called _iced-cream,_ and that we would have some this evening.”

“Well, I hope that you are prepared for disappointment, because from what I can tell, it seems as though the king has already devoured it all.”

Gjálp giggled.

“It is no laughing matter; soon she will drag him off to their cabin, and our dinner will be left to burn.”

“They are very well-matched.”

“They are.” He sighed, combing back the wet curls that clung to his forehead. “And though I would never admit it to him, Loki is a… _decent_ king.”

“High praise,” she teased. “Prince Býleistr?”

“Yes?”

“I do think that I would like to join you on Midgard. With the king’s permission, of course.”

He took her hand, and she blushed furiously, hoping that they were far enough out that her sister would not see. His expression was unreadable, and he turned away from her, though he gave her fingers a light squeeze. “Good,” he said. “And Gjálp?”

“Yes?”

“You look very charming in your swimming-suit.”

“So do you,” she blurted, immediately feeling foolish. _Norns._ “That is to say—”

“Then perhaps,” he said lightly, “we are well-matched, as well.”

Her heart pounded. “Yes,” she said, daring to hold his hand a bit more tightly. “Perhaps we are.”

 


End file.
